Kei stood before a Canvas that rippled… darker than the others.
This thread didn't hum. It growled.
> [ACCESSING TIMELINE: WARDEN PROTOCOL 000-X]
[WARNING: HIGH LEVEL CORRUPTION. NEURAL ECHO INCOMPATIBLE.]
[PROCEED?]
Kei didn't hesitate.
> [YES.]
The world slammed into him.
Metal walls. Electric screams. The smell of fear automated and recycled through vents. Prisoners with eyes hollowed from watching the same second repeat for eternity.
This timeline… wasn't a loop.
It was a machine.
And at its center sat the Warden.
Him.
But not Kei—not anymore.
This version wore the same face… but twisted. Robotic. Clean-shaven. Cold blue light where human eyes used to be. Not just controlling the system—he was the system.
"Kei?" the Author asked, stepping forward.
The Warden looked up. No emotion.
"You're not authorized," the voice responded, devoid of soul.
The Author held up the pen. "Neither were you."
Suddenly—the Warden moved.
Not walked—glitched.
He appeared behind Kei, one hand around his throat. The walls rippled into wireframe, turning the Canvas into a code dungeon.
"You were the flaw," the Warden whispered. "You believed in choice. You believed in freedom."
Kei coughed, his aura flaring. "And you gave it all up for control."
"No," the Warden hissed. "I gave it all up… for order."
Their bodies slammed into each other—memory vs. memory. Pen vs. Program.
Kei wrote wind—gales of rebellion and sparks of time.
The Warden countered with scripts—gravity reversals, spatial bends, erasure beams.
Every strike caused the timeline to flicker between versions.
In one flicker—they were children, playing in a field.
In another—they were both locked in the prison as test subjects.
In another—Kei was dead, and the Warden wept alone.
Back to reality.
They clashed again—blue vs. black.
And finally, Kei grabbed him—held him tight—pressed his forehead to the Warden's.
"You're me," he whispered. "The part of me that gave up. The part that thought control was safer than hope."
> [SYNCHRONIZATION REQUESTED.]
[CORRUPTED FRAGMENT DETECTED.]
[RECLAIM?]
Kei exhaled.
"Yes."
The Warden screamed.
And then—he shattered into light.
Not destroyed—accepted.
The part of him that lost faith—was now whole again.
And with that, the prison crumbled. The machine died.
One more thread healed.
And the Canvas?
It pulsed.
Red.
Again.
Stronger.
The Architect was watching.
Smiling.